Call Me Kat

A continuing story.

The French classroom, taught by Sister Rose, was directly across the corridor from Mrs. T’s classroom. The sounds of children’s whispers wafted through the slightly opened doorway, and Lucy strained to hear what they were saying.

Sister Rose entered the room with Lucy close behind. Her eyes were wide, her heart raced, and she wasn’t sure if she should smile, although she was smiling broadly inside. All the children quickly sat up straight in their seats and looked her over. The classroom resembled Mrs. T’s, but without the back cloakroom, it felt smaller. However, the added wall space included another blackboard. The desks and chairs were arranged in the same manner, and the number of children was the same, but there were so many new faces and names to learn.

Lucy spotted an empty desk in the front row, right in front of Sister’s desk—just the spot she’d wished for! This surprise just kept getting better!

As Lucy sat down, she felt a rush of excitement. French class felt special, almost magical. It wasn’t just about learning a new language—it was the idea of being part of something that felt so grown-up and important. She glanced at Sister Rose, who was writing on the blackboard, and smiled to herself. This is exactly where I’m supposed to be, she thought.

Sister pointed to the desk and gestured to Lucy to take her seat and get settled. Day one of French class. Lucy could not be happier. And, no Marie sitting behind her kicking the legs of her chair all day.

There was something new on the blackboard: actual words instead of the alphabet. They would begin learning to sound letters together to form words. Grandfather had taught her to read many words, but not in the same manner. His way was to point to a word, say the word, and have Lucy repeat it. Then she would read back previous words he had taught her. Sister was sounding each letter, then combining them until they sounded like the written word. How wonderful, Lucy thought.

It was Monday, and at ten o’clock there would be a visitor. Sister announced that Father B, the Pastor, would be coming to join them for their catechism lesson. Lucy fidgeted with excitement. Until now, she had only seen Father B at the front of the church serving the Mass. Clad in his priestly vestments, tall with slightly graying hair, he commanded attention and respect as he stood before the altar. His calm demeanor and confident movements seemed to hold the room in quiet awe, leaving a lasting impression on everyone, including Lucy.

When he was not serving Mass, Father B wore the standard black cassock of priests. A long black cassock buttoned all the way down the front, its hem brushing the tops of his shiny black shoes. The long sleeves and a standing black collar with an opening at the front revealed his white priest’s collar. Very distinguished looking. Father B had come to the Parish after graduating from the seminary and taking his vows as a curate. A curate is an assistant to the Pastor. Now he was the Pastor, and Father J. was the Curate.

Like all lessons, catechism class ended ten minutes before eleven, giving the children time to run to the restrooms if needed. Promptly on the hour, the next lesson would begin, though Lucy didn’t yet know what it would be since this was her first Monday of classes. Classes began at 8 o’clock, and at 12 o’clock it was time for lunch when walkies could return to their homes for lunch or they could go to the dining room to eat their packed lunch.

Lucy went home where she knew Grandmother would be waiting with a good lunch for her. On this day, it would be hot tomato soup with a grilled cheese sandwich and a glass of milk. If Grandmother had baked, there would also be a fresh cookie for her. The lunch break lasted only until ten minutes before 1 o’clock, but it was long enough for her to enjoy her time with Grandmother and tell her about the morning events.

Then she would hurriedly return to the school play-yard and repeat the entry process.